


Dancing With Remorse

by dragonswithjetpacks



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Brief Fluff, F/M, Remorse, Sad Morrigan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27941849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonswithjetpacks/pseuds/dragonswithjetpacks
Summary: Faryn Mahariel had chosen a life not many would choose. But when his heart belongs to a raven haired witch, it's hard to go anywhere. That is what he believed. And that was what she wanted. But somehow, he was pulled away from her grasp. And there are nights when she desperately wishes to see him again. No matter how twisted the memory may become.
Relationships: Male Mahariel/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Morrigan & Male Warden (Dragon Age), Morrigan & Warden (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Male Warden (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Warden (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Dancing With Remorse

The breeze rustled leaves above, shaking them into a spiraling motion below. Most of them were still green. But as the winds grew colder, it left the weakest to fall. The arms of the great being moved, shaking it's leaves and creating a dancing light across his face. But he was still. He could smell the waking wood, alive in the sun and wind. His lips transformed into a smile, the skin around his eyes folding as he squinted.

"Are you going nap like this all day?"

"The grass is so soft, _vhenan_ ," his voice purred. "Let us stay awhile longer."

Her golden eyes were a reminder of the sun. Fearful and ruthless with heat and passion, but warm and comforting in times of need. He touched her cheek, her pale skin smooth against his calloused finger tips. There was no magic in his blood, but she always fell victim to his spell. She lay back in the grass opposite of him, the top of her head inches away from his own. He reached up to touch the ends of her fingertips. A tease and a hint that she also knew well. She tangled her fingers into his, a sigh escaping her lips as she gave in.

"Alright..." she heaved the words accompanied by another exhale of her breath. "But Kieran will wonder what has hindered our return."

"Leave the boy be," Faryn half shrugged into his shoulder. "He's more than likely skipping stones in the old ruin."

The raven haired sorceress grinned. Her companion was correct. As she closed her eyes she could almost see him just over the mossy hills. Just as she had given a part of herself to him, he had remained connected. There was no immediate threat to him and there would be no reason for her cause alarm for nothing. Further more, if there was any danger to be had in the forest, the probability of one of them detecting it before arrival was very likely. 

"Can you hear them?" Faryn asked, his voice above a whisper.

"I hear many things," Morrigan replied coyly.

"The trees," he corrected her. "Can you hear the trees? The way they sigh and moan in the wind. I think it's their favorite thing."

Morrigan listened for a moment, quieting the sound of her breathing just so she could shift her focus on the wood. They cracked their branches and their trunks groaned and as they swayed, they scraped against one another. Faryn was quite right. The trees were speaking, almost singing. 

"What an interesting conversation," she bared a full toothed grin. 

"Indeed. I feel a bit bad for eavesdropping."

Morrigan, not always fond of his tedious jokes, found herself chuckling. He squeezed her hand as he had always found such beauty in her laughter. Especially when it was of a lighter nature and not say the suffering of another. 

The sound of her own laughter echoed before it faded into the emptiness around her. Every day for months on end, it was the only memory she wanted to see of him. Thirteen minutes... and seven seconds. The only time in her life she truly felt happy. And the last time she would have those feelings ever again. The tightening in her chest was followed by a stabbing pain as the regret began to form. It was the same as before. 

If only you had realized what it was at that time...

Though... it did not matter. Saving him would never have been less difficult. The situation would not have uncomplicated itself. And she would have still been as she is now: alone. 

_"People like you and I... we're the only kind that know how this world really works," he had whispered into her hair. "There's no games. No gods that matter. There's just people like us. Surviving."_

Her head filled with unwanted rage, bringing with it the anxiety of experiencing such an unfamiliar emotion. Lashing out was the only viable option to her in the heat of the moment, and she struck out to the glass bowl on the pillar. It shattered, sending shards feet away from her. The silver liquid that fill the bowl dropped heavily to the ground. It began to spread more like smoke than water over the shards and into the cracks of the stone. Morrigan buried her hands into her face, cursing her impulsive behavior. There was no putting it back together. She realized that as she knelt down. It was the last time she could see the memory. The last time she would hear his voice. The last time she would recall her own laughter. She touched the liquid, watching it attempt to ripple at the tip of her finger. There was a brief moment where she saw the outline of his face. But then... it was gone...

"I'm so sorry," she choked.

The apology was meant for more than anything she could say. The sorceress was always stubborn, always too practical to apologize for things that she meant. But what she truly was... was sorry for not cherishing the memories. Sorry for watching him wither away. Sorry for breaking the bowl. And sorry she relied on it so much for just a few minutes of replicated bliss. The soft sound of a child's footsteps brought her to her feet.

"Mother?" he peered around an ashen tree. "I heard something crash. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, darling," she brushed her hands against her tunic. I just had an accident."

Kieran's youth brought no doubt to the intelligence he wielded. He knew very well his mother did not have accidents. If there was any mention of one, he gathered it was too far from his grasp to ask. His eyes scanned the bowl and it's liquid contents scattered around the ground. Nothing came to mind when he saw it. And curiosity was of no importance to him in that time. A nod was a simple enough reply and his mother accepted it, sending him away with a patient smile and a quiet thought of gratitude. She would never allow he prospect of her weakened state to be observed by her son. And as long her tears never fell, there would be no reason for him to believe there was ever such a thing.

Still, the sadness was overwhelming. The more she combat against it, the more fragile her walls became. Looking back down to the glass, her eyes began to sting. Her hand flicked in a swift flat motion, bringing the glass an inch above the ground. They hovered ominously, dropping silver liquid to the puddle below. The fluid movement from her other hand brought the liquid close to her, circling in a curious pattern at her feet. The glass then danced in the air, stacking atop one another for reasons she did not even know herself. She let them be and turned her attention to the silver circles. 

_One last time_ ... she thought to herself. 

Again, the face was faint but she could see it. Sorrow and pain crawled from the back of her mind, hitting her with an ache she knew well. Remorse greeted her like an old friend, taking her hand gently at first. But then it squeezed, forcing something from the depths in the vaults of her mind. And it brought forward not a memory at all, but a fear. It was the broken... tainted face of the one she loved. The silver twisted and leapt, corrupting his face further until her soul cracked, sending her buckling forward as she bent in half. Her hands fell into the pool. And his wicked face smiled before vanishing. The thought crossed her mind, as it often did, that she was uncertain which was worse: trying to believe he was dead... or not knowing what happened to him at all...


End file.
